


Bottle [Inktober 2018]

by california_112



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, ITV Endeavour, Inktober, Inktober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: "You know the drill, comprehensive search of this field." he said. "Looking for an elderly female, Mrs Doris Runn, possibly in the company of a tall, younger male. Questions?" the only sound was boots stamping and hands rubbing, punctuated by the occasional cough. "Right then, pair up and spread out, let's get this over with."-or-Morse faints and Thursday takes care of him.ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHINGThis is for Inktober 2018 - Thursday 18th October, Bottle.





	Bottle [Inktober 2018]

[Mood Music Because Why Not](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=n-pwPIRW9fY&feature=share)

* * *

 

The sun was sending showers of gold flecks over the horizon, bathing the towering spires of distant Oxford in golden flame, and the colours of the autumn trees were saturated by the warm morning light, making their shadows a dark russet, just lighter than the usual wintry black. The early course of the River Thames flowed past shadow-swathed banks at the edge of Port Meadow near Binsey, murky depths constantly moving towards the dull morning lights of the great city in the near distance. The view would have been beautiful, were it not for the police marring the scene, pouring from the five black cars just pulled up in the corner of the meadow. Clearing his throat, DI Thursday called the officers around him.

            "You know the drill, comprehensive search of this field." he said. "Looking for an elderly female, Mrs Doris Runn, possibly in the company of a tall, younger male. Questions?" the only sound was boots stamping and hands rubbing, punctuated by the occasional cough. "Right then, pair up and spread out, let's get this over with."

So saying, he made his way to the shivering figure of his bagman, DC Morse, who was standing alone at the edge of the group, but before they set off a familiar car pulled up, and a friendly face emerged.

            "Doctor," Thursday greeted, "didn't expect to see you here this early."

            "Detective Inspector, Morse," DeBryn said by way of greeting, "Well, I might be needed." he took his ominous black case from the back seat. "Hopefully not, of course. Where do you want me?"

            "Somewhere the middle will be alright Doctor," Thursday said, "pair with Jameson."

            "If that's where I'll be most useful," DeBryn said, and walked off into the group of shadowy figures.

Once Thursday and Morse were in their place at the edge of the field bordering the river, the line began to move forward. The police officers started at a steady pace across the open field, their only hinderances the occasional horse or sheep, which was widely avoided. General cries for "Doris!" and "Mrs. Runn!" went out from officers regularly, but Morse had his eyes fixed on the middle distance, lost deep in thought. Thursday started to position himself between Morse and the river to make sure the boy didn't wander in, but seeing that he was still self-aware and keeping on a straight track, Thursday soon left his silence for the cheerier company of the next officer along.

As usual, Morse's mind was incessantly buzzing around the possible identities of the murderer in their current case, their suspects statements, and the evidence back at the station, his regular footsteps on the gravelly river bank providing a good background for his thoughts. So deep in contemplation was he that he neglected his search, and was bought back to his task with a start when he tripped over a surprisingly long and hard object for the small grey shingle of the beach. Quickly recovering balance, he looked back in annoyance at the object he had tripped over, and froze in the act of readjusting his jacket.

            "Come on Morse, what's taking you so long?" Thursday called back to the unmoving figure of his bagman.

What he couldn't see was that the long object had a hand attached, and an arm too. Morse's eyes followed it against his will with increasing horror, until they found the edge of the almost inevitable dark red stain. Suddenly, his mind couldn't think of anything else, the colour filling his vision completely, leaving no space for anything else.

            "Morse?" fearing what had happened, Thursday started walking back towards his bagman, gathering speed as he saw the slight tell-tale sway.

As Morse felt vaguely aware of the ground growing up to meet him, he heard only the white noise of fear, his panicking senses missing the cries of his name in the background. The last thing he felt was drew-covered ground on the side of his face, then nothing.

* * *

Still a couple of steps away, Thursday was just too late to catch Morse as he fell, and watched with an internal wince as the lad's head hit the ground. Quickly kneeling next to him and rolling him onto his back, he called over the PC he had been walking with.

            "Smith, get Doctor DeBryn, and bring a couple of stretchers." Thursday glanced at the body lying on the beach in the distance, an ugly wound disfiguring her chest, which had likely been the cause of Morse’s syncope. "Bring a sheet too, best get her covered up for when Morse comes ‘round."

PC Smith ran off into the brightening day, making his way down the line of tired officers, calling once he got close to the pathologist.

            "Doctor, you're wanted down at the river, better get going."

DeBryn sighed. "Doris Runn?"

            "Her and Morse.” DeBryn felt his chest tighten. “He passed out,” Smith explained in the face of DeBryn’s startled expression, “better get down there.”

Smith ran off again to get the items, and DeBryn picked up his bag and made his way down past the staring officers. Looking ahead, he saw that Morse was sitting up, the low sun glinting off his reddish hair, and apparently feeling better, for he was having an audible argument with Thursday, who was strategically positioned in his line of sight to the corpse.

            "I don't need to go anywhere, sir,” he said indignantly, “I only-"

            "You fainted, Morse, and I'm taking you home." Thursday said, voice hard but not harsh.

            "But-"

            "Fainted?" DeBryn confirmed, settling his box next to Morse and reaching out for the bony wrist, taking the slightly higher pulse.

            "Not-"

            "Yes." Thursday cut in, nodding his head back to the body. "I couldn't catch him though; his head went straight on the ground."

Morse reddened as DeBryn checked his head and vision. "I don't need-"

            "I don't think there's anything wrong," DeBryn started.

            "See?" Morse said, starting to get up with a look to his DI.

            "-but I still think you should go home." DeBryn finished. "When's the last time you got some sleep, Morse?"

            "I get enough." Morse said cagily. "I'm fine to work." He stifled a yawn unconvincingly.

            "Go home, Morse," DeBryn said, getting up and moving over to Mrs. Runn, "get some sleep."

Thursday looked back to Morse, his expression saying told-you-so. Tentatively, Morse got to his feet, and immediately waved away the stretcher which had been bought for him, with mutterings of "I can walk."

            "My place?" Thursday suggested.

            "Really, sir, I'm fine." Morse replied. "I'd really rather go back to the station."

            "Your place then." Thursday said, ignoring Morse's comment. "In you get."

Thursday drove the Jag, relegating Morse to the passenger seat and directions, and they soon arrived in Morse’s street.

            “Where are you these days?” Thursday asked.

            "Just here, on the right." Morse pointed to the top of a set of stairs just visible through a line of parked cars, which led down below street level.

Morse got out of the car and immediately started down the stairs, but was stopped by a call from his superior.

            “Don’t lock the door,” Thursday called, “I’ll just park and then I’ll be right in.”

            “Sir, you don’t have to-”

            “Two minutes, Morse.”

Thursday drove off, and Morse quickly made his way down the stairs and into his small flat, seeing for the first time what a state it was in; stray clothing, records and half-full whiskey bottles strewn about where he had left them. Before he had a chance to do anything about it, however, the door opened, and Thursday walked in.

            “Nice place.” He commented, his eyes roving over the alcohol bottles scattered over sideboards and bookcases.

Morse couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Thursday glanced at him in the silence, and saw how his bagman hadn’t really recovered his complexion from the fainting spell, that or he was always this pale. He also noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, and the way he seemed to be blinking to stay awake.

            “Sit yourself down, you’re dead on your feet.” Thursday said, pointing to the unoccupied armchair opposite the record player. “Want a drink?”

            “I don’t think a large whiskey would be a good idea at this time of the morning.” Morse replied, still standing.

Thursday glanced at him with raised eyebrows, before turning back to the dresser where he was pouring drinks, silently collecting the conspicuous bottle of whiskey and putting it into the sideboard drawer. He wanted Morse in later to help with the case, not ginning himself up alone in this dingy basement.

            “That bad?” The lad remained silent, unmoving. “Morse?”

            “She was just…left there. Like that.” Morse stared into the tumbler of water that Thursday placed in his hand. “Lying on the bank, like…”

            “No need to think about that now.” Thursday said, his tone calming, rolling an empty under his chair as he stepped closer to Morse.

            “But why?” Morse went on. “She was an old lady, what would someone want with-“

            “It’s no use trying to fathom the mind of a criminal.” Thursday cut in. “People like that do things for no reason at all, their only thought of personal gain or revenge, sometimes both. Feeling sorry won’t solve the case, but you just might, if you’re not dead on your feet.” He threw an accusatory glace in Morse’s direction. “You can’t have slept for the last, what, day?”

            “I slept last night.” Morse said, sitting down.

            “With your eyes open,” Thursday said, joining him, “I saw you at your desk last night, going through those papers.”

            “This case needs to be solved, before anyone else dies!” Morse said, sounding mildly desperate, putting his glass down heavily. “This is the second fatality, who know how many more-”

            “We’ll get him, Morse; If you start taking care of yourself.” Thursday glanced at the man opposite him. “Beer might be brain food, but right now your brain just needs a rest. No Dutch courage on this case, thank you.”

Morse didn’t reply, and Thursday took his glass back to the dresser, refilling it. Suddenly he stopped, still facing the wall.

            “Morse, I’m not kidding when I say you need to take care of yourself. You’re thin as a stick, work for days without sleep, and I’ve hardly seen you touch a morsel all week. You can’t survive on crosswords and Chopin, it doesn’t work out. So, get some sleep, and come back fresh, tomorrow at the earliest. Have a decent meal whilst you’re at it.” He listened for a reply. “Morse?”

Turning around, he saw that the lad was dead to the world in his chair, sprawled in sleep and snoring lightly. Writing a quick note- ‘See you tomorrow earliest, have a good meal. Took spare keys. Fred’- he draped the flimsy cover from Morse’s bed over his thin frame, and locked the door on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> this was rushed i'm so sorry if i missed the characterisations
> 
> Hey there! I'm still very new to writing for this fandom, but getting into it now, I've got one more work lined up for this month, and something big planned for the future! Feel free to critique my work, I need all the advice I can get :) ~Cosmo
> 
> [Crossposted on Tumblr: @carryon-writing]


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